Misery Loves Company
by thyme2read
Summary: A Mandalorian walks into Quark's bar and meets a Norse warrior from ancient Earth. What could they all possibly have in common? As it turns out, quite a bit. Some complaints are universal. Collaboration with LornaWinters.


Author's Note: Just a little fic that came about while LornaWinters and I were discussing our pet projects one day. We were highly amused to find that even though these two characters (one OC, one canon) came from totally different worlds/eras/genres, their troubles were nearly identical, so we conspired to bring them together for a spell. And where better to drink and commiserate than Quark's?

* * *

><p>Finnur sat at a table in the great hall of his hostess, the most beautiful woman in the world. He loved her dearly, would do anything for her, endure anything for her. If only that bewitching woman knew how he felt. To tell her was something he longed for more than anything.<p>

But she was occupied at the moment, entertaining the legion of Roman soldiers who had come to help defend her city against a common foe. He had always thought that Romans were demanding guests. Though they also made attentive hosts, on this night Finnur couldn't see them as anything other than drunken boars.

Their leader was Tribune Marcellus. He was ambitious, charming, handsome, valorous in battle...and the most arrogant toady Finnur had ever known. If that wasn't enough to dislike him, he had set his sights on Finnur's lady.

Outside of an actual battle, Finnur wasn't usually a fighting man. He never involved himself in brawls and squabbles. But if Marcellus touched her, he would make an exception without blinking an eye.

The only problem was, if he did that, _he_ would look like the rude guest rather than Marcellus.

"You should come to my family's villa in Sicily," Marcellus said to her, "and allow me to repay your hospitality." He raised his glass and announced, "To the most elegant lady in all of Gaul—no, the world! For I've never beheld her match anywhere. Not even in Rome."

"Here, here!" the guests agreed.

The toast was true enough, but Finnur had trouble bringing himself to acknowledge Marcellus' spectacle.

While the Romans continued their carousing, Finnur approached the lady. Her cheeks were flushed with mead and laughter, and he wondered if she might be a sort of demigoddess. "If you'll excuse me, milady," he said, "I'm weary from my journey and require rest."

"Oh, of course," she answered. "Sleep well, and I look forward to seeing you on the morrow."

Finnur sighed when he realized he'd also have to look at Marcellus in the morning, too. But he didn't want to think about that, or anything else for that matter. He made his way through the dimly lit passages of the fortress to his chamber. A warm fire was waiting for him there. Without even removing his clothing or boots, he collapsed into the pile of furs.

Dreams can transcend through time, space, and dimensions. And so it was that Finnur found his way to Deep Space 9. Given the mood he was in, as soon as Quark's caught his eye, he headed straight for the establishment. He couldn't read any of the alien guideposts, but he could see it was exactly the kind of place he was looking for: where a man could drown his sorrows.

Judging by the way the strange people were singing and cheering, he would soon get caught up along with them in their hilarity and forget all about her.

Or at least, that's what he hoped.

* * *

><p>A tall figure, clad from head to foot in a suit of pure <em>beskar<em> stalked into the bar. He noted with disappointment that the patrons did not even flinch. There was a time when the sight of Mandalorian battle armor would cause a ripple of fear, but those days were fast becoming a thing of the past.

He'd been forced to leave his planet smasher, a hulking, repeating blaster, back on the ship. The station's flimsy security personnel had insisted upon it, and being at the end of his rope, he agreed. He needed fuel, supplies, and something strong to drink. It's not like he'd be defenseless without it, anyway. His armor had a variety of knives and other small weapons hidden in it should the need arise. And a great part of him certainly hoped that it would.

Canderous Ordo was not at all happy with the way his life had turned out. Sure, he'd had a glorious military career, working his way up all the ranks from Rally Master, to Field Martial, to Tactical Advisor for Mandalore himself. But what did any of that mean now?

Mandalore was dead, and the clans were decimated. The survivors were little more than thugs now, reduced to earning their bread as mercenaries for the highest bidder. He himself had been rotting on Taris, working as an enforcer for the crime lord Davik Kang, until _she_ came along.

At the time, he'd welcomed the change. It seemed like a good idea to get back into the action, meet new challenges, and lend his skills to help the Jedi lady fight her battles. He hadn't meant to lend her his heart as well.

With a clunk, he threw himself heavily onto a stool and removed his helmet, placing it on the floor.

"What'll you have?" asked Quark, the namesake and proprietor of the establishment.

"Anything strong enough to burn the throat and soothe the memories," he answered in a gravelly voice. "I don't know what you call the liquor in this galaxy."

A husky guy sitting next to him finished his own drink. "So we are in the same boat? I thought as much when you came in."

Canderous scowled. "I doubt it. Not unless you're at the wrong end of a hard life, largely wasted in fighting other people's battles, scraping together a living and wondering if there wasn't some greater purpose out there for you. And just when you think you've found a glimmer of hope, the woman you love falls for someone else."

The man chuckled wryly. "Actually, my story is quite similar. Every time I get close to the woman I love, some Roman steps in and she forgets about me."

"Yeah, I can see you've been here a while already."

"Actually, I just got here myself. I was at a mead hall before I came here."

Candeorus smirked. "That explains a lot."

Quark returned and set a bottle of blue liquid on the counter. "I know what you mean, fellas."

"Dark hair?"

"Of course."

"So insanely beautiful that you can't think straight around her?"

Finnur nodded. "Yep, especially when she swings that sword around."

Now Canderous chuckled. "Sometimes I wish she'd just run me through with it and put me out of my misery."

"To unrequited love." They raised their newly-filled glasses, threw back the contents, and found themselves in a coughing fit after they swallowed.

"What _is _this stuff?" Canderous wheezed, glaring at Quark.

"Romulan ale," answered the Ferengi.

Finnur's face darkened. "Romulan? As in, Roman?" He pushed the glass away. "Get me something else. I no longer wish to contribute to Rome's prosperity."

Quark blinked, but then decided it was better not to argue with a drunk customer. He returned a moment later with some mead. "Did I guess right?" He reached over to put away the bottle of Romulan ale.

"Don't take that away!" Canderous snapped, "I'm drinking that!"

"Okay, okay!" pleaded Quark, raising his hands in defense, "Glad to see my perceptions haven't dulled."

Canderous continued, "The part that bothers me the most, is that she's settling for this worthless grunt who's not fit to wipe her boots, and he doesn't even appreciate her like I do!" He slammed his fist down, rattling the contents on the bar. "Even if she could see past him, she'd never look to me for... anything."

"She sees me as a," Finnur grimaced, "friend, and that arrogant toady is only interested in her because she's royalty and he wants to advance himself."

"I think I could just be content if things stayed the way they are. If we could just go on battling across the galaxy forever...even if she didn't love me."

"It's like fate is against me."

The Mandalorian sighed. "I pledged my life to her. Told her I'd stay by her side through anything, that I was her man until the end, no matter what path she took."

"What did she say to that?"

He groaned. "Even then I could see that she didn't take my full meaning. She just smiled prettily, said she was glad to have me aboard, then simpered off to patch things up with that sniveling Republic ninny, who only moments before had called her a traitor and accused her of ruining his life."

Finnur nodded in understanding. "I was her bodyguard, hired by her husband to protect her from his enemies. Never thought I'd fall for her. When he died, I intended to give her space to grieve before telling her how I felt. The next thing I know, another man is trying to move in."

Canderous slapped him on the shoulder. "You're alright. What's your name, chum?"

Quark appeared and set down his bar rag. "Boys, you know this is the oldest story in the universe?"

"The name's Finnur." He turned to Quark, "Say, what do you know about this, ears?"

"I know all about a gorgeous woman throwing herself away on a Klingon oaf." He gestured toward the happy couple, who were sitting in the corner. They waved back.

Canderous snorted. "Another brunette, eh? My condolences."

"Yep," said Quark, "she could have had her pick of any male on this station...and she picks him." He shook his head.

"He's no looker," said Finnur in wonder.

"I could take him," said the Mandalorian, sizing up the Klingon. "Why don't you just beat him up?"

"Do _I _look like I could beat him up?" asked Quark, laughing at such a notion.

"Sure, if you put your mind to it."

"I wouldn't," Finnur warned, "Because if you do, then she'll get mad at you, and the slim chance you had will be gone forever."

"I'm with Norse man on that one," Quark agreed.

"Yeah. There is that," Canderous admitted. They sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, then the armored man slammed his glass down again. "What we need," he said with a gleam in his eye, "is someone to do the dirty work for us!"

Finnur smiled. "This plan shows promise."

"Easy on the glassware, boys," muttered Quark.

"I can't believe I didn't think of this before, what with working for The Exchange and all. But then again, I'm a different man than I was then. She changed me...but heck, if it means a chance with her, I'd relapse in a heartbeat!"

"I have no idea what any of that is," said the Norse man, "But I take your meaning perfectly."

"You up for spilling a little thin blood, Finnur?"

Quark had learned long ago that there were times when the less he heard about certain business his clientele dealt in, the longer he'd live. He promptly disappeared to listen in on more profitable conversations. "Holler if you need anything," he said over his shoulder.

Canderous narrowed his eyes. "I'll take your rival out if you'll do the same for me."

"I'm not usually a confrontational sort of man," Finnur shrugged, "but I can fight. And this is as good a reason as any. Tell me about this rival."

"Oh, he's nothing special. Name's Carth Onasi. A real milk sop. About this tall, brown hair, brown eyes-"

"No, no. What are his weaknesses? His strengths? I don't care what he looks like, I need to know how to take him down. They're all the same: tall dark strangers, who play on women's sympathies, hanging around waiting for the right opportunity."

"You'll have no problem with that," laughed Canderous. "He _thinks_ he's a hotshot with a blaster, but he's nothing you couldn't handle. It's my little lady you gotta worry about," he warned, pointing his finger. "She'll cut you down faster than you can blink an eye, so just make sure she isn't around when you strike, and you'll do fine. And I've got a whole cache full of weapons if you need anything. Tell you what, I'll make it easy for you: fix you up with a thermal detonator. Then it's just a matter of a pin-pull and a good toss. What about yours?"

"Marcellus is a career soldier. He's ambitious, young enough that he's easily provoked to anger, but experienced enough to catch himself..."

"I've seen my share of those." Canderous waved away the air in front of him, as though it were Marcellus. "Consider it done, my friend." Then he frowned, "What's wrong?"

Finnur's expression was grave. "It just occurred to me: how do we get back? I'm not fully certain how I got here."

A second Klingon sitting at the other end of the bar let out a boisterous laugh. "You'll figure it out tomorrow, humans! Ha ha ha! Quark doesn't care where you come from, so long as you don't have empty pockets!"

"That's right," Quark confirmed from across the room.

"Yeah, we'll figure something out," Canderous assured him, refilling his glass from the blue bottle.

* * *

><p>The rosy rays of dawn shone on Finnur's face. He turned over and pulled a blanket over his eyes, then bolted to his feet in alarm. He had overslept! Even now, Marcellus would be already plying his charms on his lady.<p>

It was said dreams were sent to answer the questions of mortals. It was a shame his drinking companion belonged in that other realm. But Finnur's dream had helped him to see things in a new light. Canderous had helped him to realize that a man shouldn't take the competition lying down.

He tramped down the hall in search of Marcellus.

* * *

><p>Canderous awoke with a start, then immediately regretted sitting up so quickly. As he massaged his throbbing temples, he tried to recall what exactly had happened the night before. Oh yes, the freaky wormhole, the other galaxy, the station pub with the big-eared barkeep. But as far as he remembered, he'd only had one or two drinks, so how'd he get such a massive hangover?<p>

Oh well, his implant would soon clear that up, and he had much more serious concerns at the moment. There was a small job to do for that Finnur chap, then he had to see about either finding a way back home or starting all over again in this galaxy.

He hauled himself over to the cockpit to enter the coordinates for "Earth," which, after hours of trading war stories, a Klingon had been so kind as to provide for him.

"What the-?" He blinked and checked the map again. "Eh, I picked a heck of a day to quit drinking."

According to the navigation system, he was already back in his own galaxy, heading for the Dxun moon as if nothing had ever happened.

So what, had it all been a dream then? His headache was real enough, but maybe that was just a product of sleep deprivation or… something.

"Wait a second...where's my helmet?"

* * *

><p>Quark hummed to himself as he wiped down the counter for the last time that night. Or morning, rather, for it was well past midnight by the time the last few patrons sauntered out.<p>

He had just finished calculating that it had been a lucrative day overall when his feet encountered an obstacle and he tripped, nearly breaking his neck.

"What is this?" he wondered aloud, picking the object up. It looked to be a mask or helmet of sorts. "Huh. Must have been left behind by that old armored fella." He shook his head. "Poor saps."

Quark considered selling the helmet for a moment or so, then decided against it. Instead, he would keep it, along with those rough-looking bits of coinage left by the Norse man, as personal reminders that he was not the only one suffering from unrequited love.

"Probably not worth all that much anyway, and it'll make an interesting conversation piece for my customers."

End.


End file.
